The Heart of Shadows
by slyprentice
Summary: It was Jack's secret place. That crumbling mansion at the top of the hill that overlooked the little village he lived in. No one else went there; no one else was brave enough. They all said it was cursed, after all, and that a demon lived inside. Full summary inside. Slash.


**Title: **The Heart of Shadows**  
>Author:<strong> Prentice  
><strong>Rating<strong>: Teen/Mature  
><strong>Fandom<strong>: Rise of the Guardians  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Eventual Jack Frost/Pitch Black  
><strong>Warnings<strong>: _Canon-typical violence. Alternate Universe. Dark themes. Romance. Hurt/Comfort_._ Character deaths (mostly implied). _  
><strong>Notes<strong>: _I'll warn you now that this fic is going to have slow updates. My computer fried pretty much right after I posted the first chapter of my Almost Human/Pacific Rim fusion and I've had to resort to writing on my kindle fire. It's extremely slow going even with my bluetooth keyboard and editing on it is a nightmare. So, yeah, even if it takes a while, there _will_ be another chapter of this. Just bare with me. _

_Also if you spot any noticeable flubs, please kindly point them out to me. I tried hard to edit this but, as I said, doing it on my kindle is an exercise in sheer frustration.  
><em>

**Summary**:  
><em>It was Jack's secret place. That crumbling mansion at the top of the hill that overlooked the little village he lived in. No one else went there; no one else was brave enough. They all said it was cursed, after all, and that a demon lived inside.<em>

_Jack had never seen a demon there. He never saw anything but long dark shadows that seemed to beckon him closer and old musty furniture that made better firewood than anything else. It was all just old superstition, Jack had figured; a throwback to the days of his grandparents when their little village was barely established but that old house had already been there._

_There was no demon. No evil spirit. No terrible curse._

_Jack hadn't realized how wrong he was._

_ Not until it was too late._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

The first time that Jack finally gathered the courage to approach the Old Place was the same day his father died. He hadn't planned it that way, though he sometimes wondered if the timing wasn't a little strange. After all, no one in the village ever visited the old place.

It was cursed they all said. That old house at the top of the hill overlooking the little village they lived in. Filled with evil spirits and the restless dead, it was the ancient dwelling place of an eldritch horror; a wicked and powerful demon who whispered terror into their children's hearts and who drew long shadows in the woods so that those who entered there would forever be lost.

Jack wasn't sure about all that. Had never been sure about that, really. It all sounded a bit too much like a wives' tale, a holdover from the days when the village was new and no one could figure out why that house up on the hill was already there and seemingly abandoned.

Even so, however, Jack had avoided the place like everyone else. Had spat and warded against the evil eye just like all the other villagers whenever anyone talked about it. Had even double promised his Ma and Da that he would never go near the place, either alone or with his little sister, especially with his little sister, for fear that whatever was in the place would take a liking to them and never let them leave.

He'd done all of this over the years, unthinking and uncaring of what was actually in that old place. It hardly mattered in his daily life, which he tried to fill with his sister's tinkling laughter and as much fun as could be had in their tiny village. Especially in recent years, when his Da's health had started to fade and Jack had been forced to take on more work around the farm – well, it hadn't really mattered, that antiquated house overlooking their village.

It hadn't mattered at all…until his father's death.

Jack wasn't sure why he went up there. Or, well, perhaps he did. He wasn't really sure anymore, in all honesty.

He'd just been looking for a place to go to get away from the village for a while. For a place he could escape from his mother's incessant wailing and his sister's confused and frightened tears. Far away from the pushy villagers who crowded in on his grieving family, not so much to offer comfort but to watch and to stare, to whisper to each other like hungry vultures who fed off their tears and their pain.

It sickened him, watching them swoop and swirl around his family. Not-so-subtly looking at each other and discreetly warding against evil, as if Death itself would leap from his father's congested lungs and take them too. In his less charitable moments, Jack wished it would – wished it would take the whole damn village – but he knew that was only the grief talking and resolved to take himself away for a while.

Not for long – his sister needed him, especially since his Ma was inconsolable – but just for a little while so he could be alone with his thoughts and his emotions. Where he could grieve with no one looking and with no one expecting him to be strong and take charge. To be the new man in the family and step into his father's shoes, as if the man was already long cold in his grave and not just newly settled into the fresh turned earth near the tree line that abutted their property, where Jack's grandparents and great-grandparents rested.

The problem was, however, there weren't many places he could go to be alone. Though their village was small and surrounded by woodlands, it didn't necessarily follow that he could just wander off. It was easy, too easy, to get turned around and end up back in the village or, even worse, lost in the woods and Jack wasn't willing to chance either.

There _was_ his pond – a beautiful and sometimes deep stretch of water that froze over in winter and grew shallow in summer – that might do for some solitude but Abigail, his sister, was sure to look for him there and, as much as Jack adored her, he didn't want to have to face being her big brother right now. He didn't want to have to face _anyone_ right now. Not if they expected something of him that wasn't just tears, pain, and fear.

He wasn't ready to be the man of the house. He wasn't ready to be the grown-up responsible one. Most of all, he wasn't ready to be a son without a father. Not yet, not now.

This only left one place for him. No matter how wrong it was. No matter how forbidden.

The old place – the demon's dwelling – the house on the top of the hill. That was the only place there was. The only refuge he could find.

And so, he climbed the hill.

Not out in the open, where the hedgerow still lined the overgrown but still discernible path up to the place, but sideways, where the trees were too dense to see anything but shadows. It was a long way round and somewhat treacherous in places, but Jack was nothing if not venturesome and managed it with only a few bumps and bruises to show for it. But it would be worth it, he was sure of it.

And it was.

The house – the mansion, really – was far larger than anything Jack or anyone else in the village had ever assumed. Standing nearly three stories high, with a gabled roof and dormer windows, it wasn't nearly as decrepit as it looked from a distance. Rather, it looked as though time had simply forgotten it.

That observation seemed especially true once Jack rubbed at the glass in one of the windows and looked inside. There, just beyond the smudges of dirt and grime, was furniture the likes of which Jack had never seen. Though covered in dust and cobwebs, it all seemed elegant and out-of-place; far different from the rustic and simple furnishings in everyone else's homes.

The sight of them alone had been enough to beckon Jack indoors, curiosity, as always, overriding any sense of potential danger. Surprisingly, it hadn't taken long to find a way inside, especially since it seemed, despite its grandeur, the backdoor, though creaky and stiff from disuse, hadn't been locked. Jack had only had to give it a few good shoves before it squeaked open, the sound loud and echoing throughout the house.

Lips pulling into a faint and fleeting smile – surely, if someone from the village had tried to find their way indoors, they would have fled at the sound, scared that they had woken whatever demon was inside – Jack made his way in, tired eyes widening as he took in the dusty room in front of him. It looked to be some sort of kitchen, though like none that Jack had ever seen, with a worn wooden table in the middle, long counter tops, and any number of cupboards that, by the looks of them, were probably still full of cookware. Even with the layers of dust and grime, it was obvious that this room had been, at one time, well used and perhaps even well loved.

Fingers rubbing thoughtfully against the smooth wood of his shepherd's crook – and didn't that give him a pang; his Da had been the one to give it to him just a few short months ago – Jack shut the door behind him, careful not to stir too much dust lest he be covered in it. Not that it mattered, really. He was already dirty from the trek through the woods to the top of the hill, mud and possibly a stray leaf or two clinging stubbornly to the bottoms of his bare feet and toes.

Wiggling said toes in the dust, Jack shrugged – despite his Ma's best efforts, he always ended up dirty somehow – he made his way through the kitchen, bloodshot eyes alive with curiosity. It was extraordinary, really, the rest of the house. There was dust everywhere, of course, and any number of cobwebs and spiders but that hardly mattered to Jack, especially with so much to see.

From dusty paintings whose soiled surfaces made them nearly indistinguishable from one another to a musty library that was still filled with books, the entire place was like a treasure trove. Each room offered something different, something new, and though Jack knew he should be cautious, it was hard to reign in his curiosity. Particularly once he found _The Room_.

The wasn't what it was called, of course – Jack suspected it might be a second library, though there wasn't really that many books and there was a rather large and imposing looking writing desk crosswise from an even larger and more imposing fireplace – but that was just what Jack called it in his mind. Especially since it was, by far, the most interesting room in the house, even including those ridiculously nice bedrooms upstairs that had soft beds that Jack had been tempted to lie down on, though who knew how good an idea that was. Nevertheless, this room, with its long dark shadows and creaky floorboards, was fascinating – and a bit – okay, a _lot_ – creepy.

Just opening the door to its shadowy depths had sent a strange and almost spine-chilling thrill through Jack. Like something dark and deep and horrible had made its home here, in this very room, and Jack had opened the door for it. But that was silly, wasn't it?

No matter what people in the village whispered about, no matter how many times his Ma and Da had made him promise to never come up here, it wasn't as though anything was really here. Sure, the shadows were long and dark and maybe a bit unnatural but that was only because there weren't as many windows in this room and the ones that were there weren't large ones. They were small and dusty, smudged in dirt and cobwebs, and _that_ was why the shadows seemed to move and shift.

_That_ was why they seemed to – breathe – and be – alive. That was it – that was _all_ – and Jack wasn't going to let silly superstition and his own imagination scare him away from a chance at some sorely needed solitude. He was a man now, after all, whether he wanted to be or not, and it had been a long time since he'd be afraid of shadows.

Even shadows like these.

_TBC_


End file.
